“An army marches on its stomach, Commander,” countered Ishikawa. “Ancient wisdom, but nonetheless true. Surely they taught you that at the Academy, if nothing else.”
Reckall watched the Captain closely. Pupillary response and skin conductivity were automatically measured ; a sagittal scan of the skull spawned a schematic of Ishikawa’s limbic system, shimmering with neuronal cross talk.
“Why not sit down Commander?” Ishikawa continued, “Have something to eat? Or at least a drink. Culver would be happy to share his moonshine with you, wouldn’t you, Ensign?”
Culver, well juiced by now, simply leaned back and smirked. The armoured suits were enormous: Reckall, with his drone alongside, took up fully a sixth of the space inside the cabin.
“That is not necessary,” replied Reckall, turning to face the drone as it simultaneously turned towards him. Through the darkened faceplate he caught a glimpse of a pale face staring back at him and thought fleetingly, Where am I? before the question was submerged.